


An Influx of Bashirs

by sapphose



Series: A Fistful of Julians [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Realities, Getting Together, M/M, Mirror Universe (Star Trek), Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphose/pseuds/sapphose
Summary: An experiment goes awry, and the station is suddenly home to multiple Julian Bashirs from alternate realities. Garak is determined to enjoy the situation.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: A Fistful of Julians [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015981
Comments: 57
Kudos: 185





	1. Garak

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those late night ideas. It makes as much sense as anything having to do with the mirror universe ever does. Try not to think too hard about it, and I hope you enjoy!

“It’s not that interesting, Garak.”

“My dear doctor, it is. Aside from a rather large commission for a Tholian wedding, this is the most exciting thing that’s happened all week.”

“It isn’t funny, and I don’t want to keep talking about it,” Julian said firmly, and forcefully ripped a scone from his plate in half.

Garak did not bother to conceal his dismay. He could always find out about these things from hacking into filed reports after the fact, but by then it was too late for the information to be useful.

He tried another approach, adopting a flattering tone.

“You know how much I enjoy our lunches together. You’re the most intellectually stimulating company on the station, and I’m sure the same is true of your doppelgangers. We should invite them to join us. Perhaps one of them actually enjoys Shoggoth’s enigma tales.”

For every bit of delight that Garak radiated, Julian seemed to further retreat.

“They aren’t me, you know. I mean, they look like me, on the surface, but we don’t have the same interests or personalities.” He moodily swallowed a piece of pastry. “Don’t take it personally, Garak. We’re trying to keep them away from most of the station. Just having them here is wreaking havoc on the Prime Directive already.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me _how_ they arrived here?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t. It’s classified.” This was paired with another stern look, as if something being classified made any difference in the world of Elim Garak.

“Of course, I should have known,” Garak agreed soothingly. He allowed Julian another bite before adding, “I’ll simply have to ask Quark.”

“ _Quark_?” Julian repeated incredulously.

“He is a reliable source of station gossip. And if he doesn’t know, well...” Garak lifted his hands in his own version of a human shrug. “I have my ways.”

Julian looked suspicious, but thoughtful. Garak maintained a pleasant, meaningless smile and waited.

“Fine.” Julian pushed his plate away and leaned his elbows on the table. “But only because I don’t want you drawing in anyone else.”

Garak let himself look smug, if only because Julian was charming when irritated.

“What do you know about the mirror universe?” Julian began.

“An alternate, parallel reality where the development of our civilizations has gone rather differently. An interesting case study in nature versus nurture, although how facsimiles of ourselves end up with the same names and families in a world where so much is different seems rather improbable.”

“Yes, well, that’s the basic gist of it.” Julian glanced from side to side before continuing, as if looking for listening ears. Garak didn’t have the heart to tell him that a crowded room could be one of the safest places for a private conversation; the good doctor didn’t understand the importance of camouflage. “On the other side, they have some kind of technology that allow them to move back and forth, and they’re using it a little too freely for our comfort. They want things that only seem to exist on this side.”

That explained the stunning temporary resurrection of Vedek Bareil.

“No mirror Prime Directive, I take it?”

“No such luck. Miles has been working on a device that will allow us the same ability, in case they decide to make more visits and succeed in making off with something.”

“I assume this device did not work as intended.” Nothing on this station ever seemed to.

“I don’t understand exactly what went wrong, but Miles turned it on and, next thing I knew, there were five other Julian Bashirs running around.”

Julian looked frustrated, but Garak felt positively gleeful. Five other Julian Bashirs! This day was turning out far better than he had assumed. Even if they weren’t like his own inimitable doctor, there was still useful information to be gleaned in how his Julian might react to different circumstances.

“All stashed away in the infirmary, I suppose?”

Julian pointed a warning finger across the table.

“Yes, and you are going to stay away from them, Garak. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, Doctor.”


	2. The Doctor, The Captain, and Jules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak goes to the infirmary, and meets 4 of the 5 new Julians.

Garak had never been one to allow rules to get in the way of the quest for knowledge. He waited a reasonable interval, until Julian would have put their conversation out of mind and wouldn’t be waiting for him to make an appearance, and calmly locked up his shop for the afternoon.

A Bajoran nurse with a harried expression let him into the infirmary, where Garak was greeted by a lanky, dark-haired human in a long white coat.

Julian, but not. How interesting…

“Hello.” The imposter flashed Garak a wide, toothy smile. “I’m Dr. Bashir.”

Garak marveled. They even sounded alike.

Was this one trying to pretend to be the real Julian? No, if so, he would have changed into the Starfleet uniform.

“Not the Dr. Bashir I know,” Garak observed. The human nodded amicably.

“Guilty as charged, although I promise I do have a Federation medical license.”

So the Federation existed in his reality. Not as different as the mirror universe, then.

Garak attempted his own winning smile, although he knew that his attempts to be disarming could backfire and put others more on edge, if they knew anything about him. This human clearly didn’t.

“I’m delighted to be in such capable hands. Has Starfleet put you all to work, then?”

“Goodness, no.” Dr. Bashir looked startled by the idea. “I think I might be the only doctor in the bunch. No, the others are all cooped up waiting for the engineer to do something. I couldn’t take sitting around doing nothing, so I decided to make myself useful. I may not know much about Cardassian anatomy, but I’ll certainly try.”

Garak had no intention of being a test subject, but did not let his consternation show.

“There are no Cardassians where you come from?”

“Out in space, sure, but none of them have made it to Earth. Or at least, not to Paris. That’s where my hospital is.” Dr. Bashir stood up a little straighter. “I’m Chief of Surgery, you know.”

“Congratulations!” Inside, Garak felt a stab of disappointment that he had found the most boring version of Julian. Outside, he oozed charm. “It’s a lovely city.”

“Have you been?” Dr. Bashir asked eagerly. Garak was sure that a _yes_ would get him more information, but there was no point in telling a lie he couldn’t sustain.

“I’m afraid not,” he said instead, injecting his voice with a dose of regret. “My travels never took me that far. I imagine you must miss it already. There’s no place quite like home, is there?”

He had judged correctly. Dr. Bashir was even easier to read than the normal Julian.

“I certainly won’t mind being put back, that’s for certain. My wife must be worried sick.”

“Your wife?” This was an unexpected development. The idea of a married Julian seemed strangely incongruous.

“Palis.” Dr. Bashir’s expression was soft and fond. “I met her at Starfleet Medical Academy. She’s a dancer. Extremely talented, too. Do you know what ballet is?”

Garak found the idea of hearing more about this Palis faintly nauseating, and was just about to make his excuse for an exit when a loud voice caught his and Dr. Bashir’s attention.

“That is _it_! I have had it with you!”

A door opened, and out came the immediately recognizable Julian, dragging someone with a firm grip on the upper arm.

Garak recoiled. The man being dragged had a passing resemblance to the Julian he knew, but he was ragged, unkempt, and unshaven, and he smelled atrocious.

Julian hit the combadge on his chest.

“Bashir to Odo. I need security to the infirmary to take Captain Bashir somewhere else.”

“Please be more specific, Doctor,” Odo’s tinny, disembodied voice requested. Garak could picture him rolling his eyes in the security office.

Julian’s response was exasperated.

“Put him in a holding cell for all I care. Just get him out!”

The other Julian- Captain Bashir- wrenched his arm free and rubbed his shoulder, grumbling under his breath. Garak couldn’t make out the words, but assumed they were not generally appropriate for polite company.

The whole display was entrancing, and he was beginning to enjoy himself when Julian finally noticed his presence.

“Garak? Garak, I thought I told you-”

But Julian was cut off abruptly by Captain Bashir’s snarl of “ _You_!”, and the next thing Garak knew there were filthy hands around his throat and a knee driving into his stomach and everything else went out of focus.

Captain Bashir was thin but unexpectedly strong, and he fought wildly. The scaled parts of Garak were protected, but a scratch of long nails across his cheek drew blood, and it became increasingly difficult to breathe.

When his attacker was hauled off, Garak expected to see Odo or a Bajoran deputy. Instead, he was faced with yet another doppelganger, this one with short hair, a hint of stubble on his chin, and the kind of carefully neutral expression that Julian rarely managed.

Captain Bashir cursed and thrashed, but this newcomer’s grip held tight. Intrigued, Garak prepared to introduce himself.

“Now then, what seems to be the problem?”

Of course. Odo had finally arrived, too late to be helpful but just in time to get in the way. The wild ‘captain’ was dragged off to security, and Dr. Bashir and the third one who had interrupted the fight took the opportunity to make themselves scarce.

The real Julian looked at Garak with a sigh and picked up a dermal regenerator.

“I suppose I have to heal you now,” he said flatly. Garak bowed his head civilly.

“If you would be so kind.”

It was clear that Julian was annoyed, but he still attended to Garak’s superficial injuries with tender, careful hands, and that touch alone made the trip worthwhile.

“I thought I asked you to stay away.”

“You are always telling me I should come to the infirmary,” Garak reminded the doctor. “I simply thought I would take your excellent advice.”

“I meant that you should make an appointment for a physical, not come get in a fight with an alternate version of me.”

“In my defense, he did start it.”

“If he knew you in the mirror universe, I don’t blame him.”

From his usual combination of careful listening and illegal snooping, Garak had heard about Julian’s first foray into the mirror universe, and the vicious, violent version of Garak that kept humans in line. They had never discussed it with each other.

The door to the next room opened again, breaking the tense moment. Julian turned his head with trepidation.

“What is it, Jules?”

This newest version of Julian Bashir rocked back and forth on his heels, staring at the ground.

“Bright,” he said, and frowned. “It’s too bright and it’s cold in there.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Garak put in. He had been saying the same for years. “What an intelligent young man.”

Julian shot him a dirty look, but addressed Jules with a calm, gentle tone.

“Thank you for telling me, Jules. I’ll have the computer take care of it. Is there anything else?”

Jules hummed and continued to rock.

“Dunno.” His mouth twisted, and he wrapped his arms around himself. Garak watched, fascinated. What world had this one come from?

Julian’s face brightened with the eagerness of a good idea, the same expression he wore when he thought of a new horrible novel to share with Garak.

“Do you have a version of Kukalaka in your world?” Julian asked.

Jules looked up quickly, arms loosening.

“You got Kukalaka?”

“Yes, he’s still a very good friend. I’d be happy to fetch him for you, if you’d like.”

Jules nodded happily. Garak decided that, of all the interlopers he had met, Jules was by far the most pleasant.

“I could get it,” Garak offered. He could easily break into Julian’s quarters, and had done so before when the occasion called for it.

“Not necessary,” Julian replied, voice clipped.

“It isn’t?” Garak affected exaggerated surprise. “I would have thought you wouldn’t want to leave your new friends alone unsupervised.”

He was right, and he knew it. Julian relented after only a moment of glaring.

“Go directly there and back, and don’t touch anything else!”

Garak promised, although he had not yet made up his mind about whether or not he would keep his word.

Julian brought Jules back into the other room, to adjust the environmental settings, and the other Bashir, the one who had broken up the fight, chose that moment to surface.

Garak looked at him closely. His clothes were drab, unobtrusive, with nothing identifying his occupation or tying him to a particular location. His face gave absolutely nothing away.

A challenge Garak couldn’t pass up. He stepped just a little too close and offered a small, knowing smile.

“Would you care to join me for a walk?”

“As a matter of fact, Mister Garak, I would.”


	3. Mister Bashir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak gets more than he bargained for from Mister Bashir

“Why do you have the ability to enter his quarters?” the other man wanted to know.

It was a fair question, and Garak had no intention of answering it honestly.

“I am a tailor by profession. Occasionally I need to drop off deliveries.”

The door hissed open without protest once Garak entered his falsified access code, allowing both of them entry. Garak stepped in with confidence, the other one following closely behind.

Kukalaka sat in place of pride on a shelf, and it took no effort to locate him, which was a pity. Garak made a show of searching, not one to pass up the opportunity to pry.

“I take it you know a Garak in your universe.” Garak began with what he had already discerned.

The other man’s lip twitched, the beginnings of amusement.

“Oh, yes. We know each other quite well.”

There was something in the way he said it, a private joke Garak didn’t understand.

“I’m delighted to hear our friendship transcends dimensions, Doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor.” The moment of humor passed, and the face shuttered once more. Was this a sore spot? Garak tucked that theory away to test later.

“What should I call you then?”

“You usually just call me Mister Bashir.”

That didn’t sound terribly intimate. That must have been the joke, that they weren’t friends at all.

“Mister Bashir it is. Is your Mister Garak a tailor as well?”

Information about Julian was precious, but an insight into his own fate couldn’t be resisted.

“Not that I’m aware of, but he’s been many things.” A little half-smile accompanied this. “He was a gardener when I first met him.”

“What a coincidence. I worked as a gardener once, many years ago.” He kept his tone light and bright, in case this other universe Mister Garak was really an innocent, and the coincidence meant nothing more sinister.

“I see.” Mister Bashir looked at him closely. “If you work as a tailor, you must be in contact with customers and suppliers off the station. You have to engage in a good deal of communication across the sector, I imagine.”

“Yes, I’m quite well-connected in the fashion world.” Garak tilted his head to the side, carefully weighting his words with implication.

Bashir nodded once, then announced with finality, “Mister Garak, I think I would like to see your shop.”

Garak didn’t answer immediately, instead going through a pantomime of finding Kukalaka in the obvious position it had held the entire time. Only once the little creature was safely tucked into the crook of his arm did he respond.

Garak had a very good natural instinct for when he was getting in over his head. He didn’t always follow that instinct, particularly when in over his head was exactly where he wanted to be, but it was a useful inner voice to have. Right now, it was beginning to sit up and take notice.

He ignored it. This was a Bashir who had subtlety and secrecy, and he was longing to know where it would lead.

“Mister Bashir, I would be delighted to show you.”

*

“Welcome to Garak’s Clothiers!” He accompanied the welcome with a solicitous bow, keenly watching for any hint of a reaction. There was none.

“It’s a nice establishment,” Mister Bashir noted blandly. He stepped inside and pretended to inspect a rack of tunics, but his eyes were sharply taking the measure of the room. “Where do you take orders?”

If Bashir was looking to use Garak’s computer terminal, he was sorely mistaken. Garak was happy to collect information, and even to promise to pass on a message, but he did not trust enough to let Bashir have access to the equipment itself.

“In the back room. I’m afraid it’s off-limits to customers.”

It took no more than five seconds for it all to go wrong. Five seconds for Bashir to have a phaser aimed directly at his heart, and nothing in his eyes but an emptiness that told Garak he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

“I need you to get me in touch with Luther Sloan,” Bashir said, and everything clicked for Garak, a moment too late.

How embarrassing, not to have noticed sooner. Living off of Cardassia really was dulling his senses.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is,” Garak lied easily. Bashir didn’t so much as bat an eye.

“Not good enough. I know who you really are, Garak.”

He didn’t, not at all, but it was becoming alarmingly clear what the other Mister Garak was like.

“I’m nothing more than I appear to be, my friend. A plain, simple tailor.” Despite his pride and reputation as a liar, Garak had never managed to make those words seem convincing to anyone. This was not an exception.

“You can’t fool me. I know that you’re the head of the Obsidian Order.”

Garak laughed. There was nothing else he could do. He almost didn’t want to admit to being a lowly exile, cursed and cast out, with nothing more than delusions of grandeur to cling to. _Wrong Mister Garak, my dear, you appear to have mistaken me for someone important_.

“The head,” he repeated, buying time.

Bashir stepped closer, phaser glinting in the low light. It was certainly not set to stun.

“You may not take the title, Mister Garak, but I know you’re the one pulling the strings from behind the scenes. Your father’s loyal son, until you killed him, him and your mother.”

Something inside Garak came apart. Once he could have withstood it, but that was before Tain sent an assassin after him and Mila thought that Tain was the one who needed saving, before Tain dangled redemption in front of him along with Mila’s life, before Tain died finally and forever and Garak realized he would never return home and Mila’s face on a viewscreen was the only family he had left.

“I did not kill her,” Garak said, and his voice was cold fury.

Bashir had the audacity to laugh.

“You murdered her, and you didn’t even love her enough to regret it. You told me so yourself, you know. When I had the misfortune of being your guest.”

The hand that wasn’t holding a weapon tapped against his chin, and Garak saw where the stubble was hiding a scar.

He wasn’t just in over his head; he was drowning.

“I’m only going to tell you one more time, _Mister_ Garak,” Bashir said, in a voice of silk and steel. “Contact Sloan.”

The bang on the door made both of them jump. Garak thanked whatever higher powers might be that Bashir’s finger didn’t twitch on the trigger.

“Garak, it’s me. Open up!” Odo’s voice. Garak had never been quite so happy to hear the gruff changeling speak.

Garak opened up his mouth to answer, but he never got the chance, because several things seemed to happen at once.

Bashir tackled him, abruptly and brutally, forcing them both to the ground and knocking over a mannequin. Their arms locked together, rolling across the floor, bumping into the legs of stands and tables. The phaser went off- who had fired it?- into the ceiling, bursting a hanging light into a shatter of shards and sparks.

Suddenly the phaser was in Garak’s hand, and operating on pure instinct he stood and trained it at the head of the prone figure on the ground-

In time for Odo to override the door (Garak was paying for his paranoid insistence on adding extra layers of security)-

In time for Bashir to fling his arms up in front of his face and shout, “Don’t shoot!”

Garak had been outplayed, and he knew it.

“What’s going on here?” Julian’s voice, and never had Garak been so unhappy to be in the doctor’s presence. Extricating himself from this mess would take a delicate touch.

“I don’t know!” Bashir was wide-eyed, frantic and panting with panic. “He said he would show me a suit but then next thing I knew he was pointing that thing at my head and demanding information about where I come from and-” Bashir’s voice broke off into a ragged breath. “Please, don’t let him shoot me!”

Garak could scream, he really could. Bashir’s performance might have been over-played and juvenile, and his story flimsy as Triaxian chiffon, but its effectiveness could not be argued.

“Put down the phaser, Garak,” Odo ordered, and Garak could do nothing but comply. Once more, the constable was too late to be useful but just in time to spoil Garak’s chance of getting what he wanted.

When a Bajoran deputy stepped towards him, Garak reached deep within himself and pulled out a smile.

“I hope you will allow me to return Dr. Bashir’s property before you take me into custody.” Smooth, unaffected, hopefully compelling.

He didn’t wait for the security officer to answer, but stooped to retrieve Kukalaka from the ground and strode purposefully forward to press it into Julian’s startled hands.

He had mere seconds, and as he leaned forward and whispered two words into Julian’s ear, he could only hope that he had made good use of them.

“ _Section 31_.”


	4. Julian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are back to normal, but not quite.

Garak hadn’t enjoyed the holding cells when he spent six months incarcerated in them, and he was not enjoying them now. The atmosphere was not improved by the noxious presence of Captain Bashir, who was determined to recite every slur and racial epithet he knew for Cardassians, and even to invent some when that list inevitably ran out.

It was a relief when Odo returned, wearing his usual expression of general contempt for the world. At least his disdain was not directed at any species in particular.

He also had the underappreciated quality of not wasting words.

“Dr. Bashir has convinced me to let you go,” he said. Garak assumed that he meant Julian, not the mind-numbingly boring Dr. Bashir from Earth.

“How gracious of him. I’ll have to go by the infirmary and thank him.” There was, after all, still the elusive fifth Julian Bashir to meet.

“You’ll do no such thing. If I hear that you’ve so much as stepped foot in the infirmary, I’ll have you back in one of these cells for the next twenty-six hours, is that clear?”

Garak evaluated Odo’s expression. The constable had been known to bluff, but only Quark, and never without due cause.

“Perfectly.”

Perhaps there would be some small benefit, just this once, to doing as he was told.

*

When the door chimed, Garak didn’t need to ask who it was. Only one person on the station came to his quarters.

“Come in, Doctor!” Garak welcomed Julian effusively and shepherded him in at once. Julian, for his part, looked tired and slightly nervous. He held himself tightly in the chair, body taut with tension.

“I take it your doubles have been returned to their rightful places,” Garak prompted, when it became clear that Julian was not going to speak first.

“I think so. At the very least, they aren’t here anymore.” Oddly, he didn’t look relieved by their departure.

“Hopefully we won’t have to deal with a glut of Chief O’Briens next.”

The attempt at levity fell flat. Julian didn’t so much as smile.

“How do you know about Section 31, Garak?”

An inane question. Anyone who knew as much about Garak’s past as Julian did should have been able to figure it out without assistance.

“Someone mentioned it once while I was pinning their suit jacket,” he lied breezily. “Tea?”

Nothing could defuse a situation like a good cup of red leaf tea. Unfortunately, Julian didn’t take him up on the offer.

“More to the point, how did you know that _I_ knew about Section 31?”

As far as Garak could tell, Julian had the unenviable habit of asking questions he really didn’t want to know the answer to. Inquiries like _Where did you get that information?_ and _Did you kill that man?_ and _Surely it_ _’s not_ _as_ _bad here_ _as all that_ _, Garak, is it?_ , to which honest answers would only result in uncomfortable conversations neither of them desired.

“It was a lucky guess.” Garak employed the term purposefully; using human idioms often set Julian at ease.

“Cardassians don’t believe in luck,” Julian countered. At times, his perfect memory for everything Garak had ever said could be quite grating.

“Cardassians don’t believe in revealing all their secrets. I have to maintain some sense of mystery, after all, otherwise you’d lose interest.”

“I don’t spend time with you just because you’re mysterious,” Julian scoffed.

Garak had his doubts about that.

“Since you’re asking me, I assume my hunch was correct?”

“Yes.” Julian ran a hand through his ruffled hair. He looked older than usual, somehow. “He had never even been stationed on DS9. He was discovered as genetically enhanced in the academy entrance exam, and Section 31 recruited him almost immediately.”

This was more information than Garak had expected.

“He told you about his world?” An unusual choice for an agent. Hadn’t he been taught to retreat into silence when discovered?

Julian sighed.

“Some of it. And he told us about you. He had a lot to say about the other you.”

Garak could well imagine.

“I must have overcharged him for something,” he supposed dismissively.

Julian stirred restlessly in his seat.

“After the mirror universe, I expected that any other world would be that strange. But they were all so much like me. The people I could have been, if I had made one different choice. Or if someone made another choice for me.”

Garak thought of the Jules for whom he had gone to fetch Kukalaka. Was that who Julian would be, if his parents had not taken him to Adigeon Prime? Could one decision change so much about a person?

“Garak, the other you…” Julian hesitated for a moment. “Is that who you would be, if you hadn’t been exiled?”

Another question that shouldn’t be answered. Garak couldn’t imagine hurting Mila, but years living amongst Bajorans and the Federation had changed him.

“Who can say? For better or for worse, I am nothing more than what you see before you.”

“A humble tailor?” Julian supplied. It was small and weak, but he was finally smiling.

“Precisely, my dear doctor.”

“I think I will take that tea after all.”

An excellent sign. Garak inclined his head and went to the replicator to order Tarkalean tea, extra sweet, just the way Julian liked it.

Julian accepted the cup gratefully with both hands, relaxing into its heat.

“What a nightmare all of this has been. I guess I should be grateful that at least none of them was a Changeling.” Julian laughed ruefully, and Garak felt an unwelcome pang of regret.

He should have noticed. He should have known.

Still, there was nothing to be done about that now. Garak couldn’t change the past, only the present.

“Doctor, I hope you will believe me when I say that you truly are one of a kind.” Garak summoned every drop of truth left in him, and was rewarded with a handsome blush.

Flushing, Julian looked down at his cup and took a sip. When he looked up again, his eyes were sparkling.

When Garak looked into those eyes, he had the dizzying feeling that he would do almost anything to keep them on him.

“You know, Garak, you never met the fifth Julian Bashir.” Julian’s voice was coy and teasing, and it filled Garak with warmth.

“A fact I deeply regret, but Constable Odo made it quite clear that I was banned from the infirmary. I’m afraid I won’t be able to come in for that physical after all.”

“I’m sure that’s not what Odo meant.”

“One can never be too careful.”

Ordinarily, they would have kept going with the banter, perhaps with Julian making a remark about Garak’s health and Garak making up something about Cardassian physiology that the doctor would puzzle about all week.

Instead, Julian leaned forward, and the sincerity in his expression made Garak ache.

“He was an exile. The other me, I mean. When he was exposed, they revoked his citizenship and gave him a prison sentence to be served in the same institution they kept the other augments.” Julian’s mouth was set in a grim line. “He ran away.”

Garak couldn’t blame him. As hard as it was for him to remember at times, there were worse things than exile.

“A dangerous thing to do,” Garak guessed. Julian nodded.

“Extremely. He said that he wouldn’t have been able to make it on his own, but he had help from you.”

“From me?” Garak was surprised. Between the sadistic gul on Terok Nor and the merciless head of the Obsidian Order, he had become accustomed to expecting the worst from his alternate selves.

“We still met here on the station. When the truth came out, the other Garak agreed to help the other Julian escape. We ran away together.”

Then the Garak in that universe was perhaps the best one that existed. The only one brave and altruistic enough to make Julian’s life better in some way, instead of causing him pain.

“How… romantic,” he said, and could hear his own bitterness.

“It was. Literally, Garak. They were a couple.”

“Oh.” It was an odd feeling, being jealous of yourself. Garak didn’t quite know what to make of it.

He could feel Julian watching him closely, no doubt searching for a reaction. Garak kept his face as opaque and unreadable as he knew how.

“Aren’t you surprised?”

That was obvious fishing, and Garak wouldn’t fall for it.

“Should I be?”

“Well, you and I aren’t a couple,” Julian prodded.

“It’s as you said, my dear doctor. They may look like us, but they aren’t the same.”

“You don’t call anyone else that, do you? ‘My dear.’”

Well done, Julian! It had only taken nearly six years for him to catch on.

“I’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No. I rather like it.” Julian grinned. “I could call you that too, my dear Garak.”

Was he being mocked? Did he care?

“If you’d like.”

“I would.” Julian set his cup down on the end table with a gentle _clink_. “And there’s something else I’d like to try, too. May I kiss you, Garak?”

Garak prided himself on never being at a loss for words, but his mastery of language appeared to have scarpered off just when he needed it most.

“What?”

“A kiss. A romantic action involving mouths and, if we’re good at it, hands. Cardassians do kiss, don’t they?”

Garak blinked. Was this a test? Had Julian been replaced after all?

“Why?”

Julian laughed at that, even though it was quite a reasonable question under the circumstances.

“Because, Garak, you are one of a kind. Because I’m interested in you, and I know perfectly well that you’re interested in me. I always worried that it was too much of a risk, that something would go wrong and we’d ruin our friendship or we’d put ourselves in danger. But we’re already in danger most of the time, aren’t we? When I was talking with the other Julian, I saw myself. How I feel about you. He said, even in exile, that he was happy because we were together. It made me think, maybe it would be worth it to try. Is that… I haven’t completely misread the situation, have I?”

“No!” It burst out of Garak, and he was too far gone to care. “No, you haven’t misread, yes, Cardassians kiss, and yes, my dear, you may kiss me. In fact, I’d be delighted if you did.”

Julian was soft and warm and insistent as their lips met and their arms wrapped around each other, and Garak was convinced that there could be nothing else- no one else- in the universe quite like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! What do you think should be the collective noun for a group of Bashirs?


End file.
